


To be held

by RisenKing



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Consensual, Lap Sex, M/M, NSFW, Post-Timeskip, also sylvain please for the love of god take a shower after sex wtf, dimivain, sappy and gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29005677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RisenKing/pseuds/RisenKing
Summary: Feeling extremely needy, Sylvain asks Dimitri for lapsex.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 67





	To be held

**Author's Note:**

> I did my best, but I'm not really practiced when it comes to NSFW. The pillowtalk/banter originally was way sillier but then I got self conscious. LMAO.
> 
> If you're on twitter, I made a NSFW account called @Risenkingcum and would love to make some friends.

Skin on skin contact supposedly triggers the release of oxytocin and serotonin, best known for bonding and happiness. But Sylvain knows nothing of science and _chemicals_ other than the concept of chemical attraction, and even that was mostly an abstract sensation fluttering in his chest or stabbing at the space between his legs. Sylvain prefers to think with his body rather than his head anyway. A lot less to muddle through.

If he has to pick—between the swelling of heat in his cock and desperate rutting versus the sweaty tangle of bodies melting into one another—Sylvain honestly prefers the latter. Maybe it’s the close attention. That seeping warmth in the pit of his stomach and chest, his angles sloppy against Dimitri’s angles. Draped, like Dimitri’s cloak over them. No end to Sylvain and no beginning to Dimitri. 

Safety. Affection. Like Sylvain is worth more than a hole to shove a cock through--that Sylvain is wanted even after the deed was done. Like he is cherished, something to be held tight lest he tries to slip away in the night. It’s the tracing of fingers across his collarbone, his jawline, down his arm and honey-sweet warmth. The beat of Dimitri’s heart under a still-heaving chest, slowing with each passing moment. Sinking, sinking, sinking into sleep. 

Even without the sex, even fully clothed: it’s this intimacy that he craves.

Dimitri’s hand is still tangled in his hair, just at the nape of his neck. He’s long since stopped scratching his scalp there, and Sylvain hears his breathing even out. He allows himself to sink too, tucking his face into the pulse of Dimitri’s neck and succumbing.

The morning light washes through sheer curtains. Dimitri is up and drifting around the room, stooping down to pick up scattered clothes with a grunt, his joints stiff and slow under scarred skin in the early morning. Sylvain stirs some time later, as Dimitri’s chair creaks under his weight. Dimitri is still naked, even as he rifles through a few letters he hadn’t yet had a chance to address. Long hair hangs down over his shoulders as he leans forward to squint at the writing there. His eyepatch still lays abandoned somewhere under the bed. 

“Come back to bed,” Sylvain whines through the last dredges of sleep. His eyes are slits, watering in the light, and he buries his face back into the pillow. “S’cold. How are you sitting around naked when it’s so _cold_.”

“You have my cloak tangled up around you,” Dimitri said. “And I wanted to do some paperwork.”

“That can wait,” Sylvain mutters. “It’s like shitfuck oclock…”

“The sun is up,” Dimitri says.

“Shit. Fuck. O. Clock.”

This earns a chuckle, deep in Dimitri’s throat. “The great Sylvain Jose Gautier, self-proclaimed god of sex, needy and begging in my bed? Who would have thought?”

Sylvain’s voice is muffled by the pillow. It almost sounded like a “fuck you” but maybe it was a “fuck me”. One can never tell with Sylvain. 

Dimitri turns to examine him. Sylvain is completely swaddled in his cloak, head only visible for a crop of orange, and one leg hiked up out of the blankets. Dimitri studies how gracefully his exposed buttcheek connects to the back of his upper thigh. A sliver of light cuts across the lump he occupies there.

“I suppose I can attend to other needs first,” Dimitri says. 

The edge of the bed dips where he sits. A rough palm drags up Sylvain’s leg to his asscheek, nudging aside the cloak to bare the rest of his ass. As expected, Sylvain is delightfully open, splayed as he is.

Sylvain shivers.

“Shall I warm you?” Dimitri asks. One hand squeezes his asscheek, fingers wandering into the space where the cheeks meet then slipping under to fondle at his cock. His own cock twitches at Sylvain’s breathy moan.

Sylvain hisses something into the pillow but only spreads his legs further, all but sticking his ass in the air for Dimitri—presenting himself with last night’s cum still crusted down his leg. 

“An eloquent way to say yes,” Dimitri murmurs, twisting around to dig through the drawer on the little table by the bed. He warms the lube in his hands, but hesitates, one hand on the small of Sylvain’s back to steady him. “May I?”

“Wait,” Sylvain says, squirming free of Dimitri’s hold and sitting up, clutching the cloak to him as he turns to face Dimitri. The crease from the pillow is still indented across his cheek.

“Everything alright?” Dimitri asks. “We don’t have to do anything if you’re not up to it. I know I was less than gentle last night…”

At this, Sylvain groans. Less than gentle was an understatement, he’d wobbled the entire way to the bathroom afterwards. If anything, he’ll milk it later to stay in bed all day. “You really don’t know your own strength sometimes, yes, but that’s not what I mean. I just—” Sylvain throws the cloak around Dimitri’s shoulders. “I want to do things a little differently this time?”

“Then take the lead,” Dimitri says, just a faint growl in the velvet of his voice. “I am open to something new.”

“You’re probably going to think this is cheesy as hell—and I get that—but just humor me, okay?” Sylvain says. Brow raised, he points to the headboard with a little jerk of his head.

A silent command.

Dimitri complies, crawling over to sit cross-legged with his back against the headboard and the cloak still draped over his shoulders. “Ready to humor,” he says with a wry little smile, eye fixed on Sylvain’s every move. 

Sylvain rises to straddle Dimitri’s lap, throwing his arms over his shoulders and burying to his face into the crook of his neck. He inhales. Exhales.  
  
Sylvain is about as large as Dimitri—though a little more fluff in places where Dimitri is muscle and bone; he barely fits in his lap. _Like a Great Dane who fancies himself a lap dog_ , comes the unbidden picture in Dimitri’s mind.

“You wanted a hug--?” Dimitri asks. On instinct, he wraps his arms around Sylvain and presses him close. “All you have to do is ask.”

Sylvain’s cheeks burn, but, eyes closed, he soaks in that placid warmth. “No. I want to have sex, but I want to have sex in your lap, like this, with you holding me. So, can we take it slow and easy and just do it that way? And then afterwards, we are going to shower because I feel and probably look and smell disgusting—" 

“Oh—” Dimitri pulls back and takes his face in either of his hands. He nods, almost solemnly, though there’s just the faintest dusting of pink on his cheeks. “Yeah, I mean—of course—” He swallows, regaining control of the tangle of words spilling out of his mouth. “We can try it that way.”

“Thanks,” Sylvain says. There’s a strange bashfulness to his smile, even as he rises on his knees, borrowing the lube and coating his hands. He wraps an arm behind himself, extracting a sigh as he eases a few fingers inside himself. “Just give me a second.”

Dimitri holds him while Sylvain works himself, fingers pressing into Sylvain’s sides as he studies the smattering of red freckles drenching Sylvain’s neck and chest. Sylvain is panting by the time he’s done, hard cock prodding Dimitri’s stomach with each involuntary jerk of his hips. Dimitri feels his own swelling somewhere in the fork between Sylvain’s thighs as he lowers himself back down on him.

“Okay,” Sylvain grunts. “Hopefully that’s good. If not, well, I’m a whore for punishment. You know this.”

Dimitri opens his mouth to speak, but thinks better of it. 

“Anyway,” Sylvain mutters. “I’m just gonna…get into position if you’re ready.” He fishes between himself and Dimitri, scooting backwards so Dimitri’s cock could spring free. He tests it with a few good pumps of his fist, hands still slick from lube. “Yeah, I’d say you look ready.”

Dimitri grunts, but a playful sarcasm laps up his words. “That so? I couldn’t tell.” 

“You telling me that this thing has a second form I don’t know about?” Sylvain says. “Better not be holding out on me.”

“Goddess,” Dimitri grunts. An airy laugh pitches into a gasp as Sylvain sinks himself down onto his cock. “I just want to know what you are imagining in that scenario, Sylvain. Real quick. What would that even look like?”

Sylvain shrugs. “I don’t know.”  
  
With another groan, Sylvain adjusts, waves of discomfort fluttering from the walls of his opening as he leans into the pain. If he focuses on this feeling of complete _fullness_ , he can almost shove out the pervasive emptiness he feels when he’s alone. And, if he focuses on the warmth of Dimitri’s arms clasped around him, he almost feels like that feeling won’t come back once they part.  
  
“Okay,” Sylvain pants, “Sorry, I’m not used to doing it like this.” He meets Dimitri’s gaze and his cheeks sear red. He immediately casts his eyes down. “Shit, um…my face is usually in the pillow by now—"

Dimitri resists the urge to twitch his hips, as his brain is consumed by the warmth of peppered gasps just inches from his lips and the tight walls squeezing down on his dick. Instead he waits, one hand rubbing circles into the broad of Sylvain’s back. “Take your time,” he manages. “I’ll let you set the pace.”

“Right, right,” Sylvain mutters. He gives an experimental snap of his hips, slowly at first, like a wave reaching its crest. His eyes nearly roll into the back of his head even just from that, locked onto Dimitri as he is. This is a lot more personal that he was expecting it to be. He can see Dimitri’s jaw clench. He can feel the breath that catches in his throat.

“That’s it,” Dimitri growls, more of a whisper than anything. 

It lights Sylvain’s nerves on fire. He lifts up a little with a long sigh and snaps again, then again, rutting like his life depends on it and like Dimitri is an anchor in the middle of a storm.

A whine rips from Dimitri’s throat. One arm hooks around Sylvain’s waist, the other clutching into locks of hair already plastered with sweat. Sylvain rolls and bucks and writhes, lips skewed open in little pants until Dimitri captures them in an open-mouthed kiss.

Whether Dimitri is stealing his soul or breathing life into him—Sylvain can’t tell, but he moans shamelessly into Dimitri with each thrust, as he’s filled and refilled and the friction pummels his core.

And he grows sloppy and haphazard and sweaty and clumsy, limbs a tangle with Dimitri’s and body burning with a sputtering fire that lashes out and whips through him.

“That’s it—” Dimitri grunts. 

A particularly violent thrust knocks the breath from Dimitri. A second follows. And a third. Sylvain pulls his lips away, slobber dribbling down his chin. His head falls back as Dimitri’s cum explodes inside of him, released with a deep, echoing groan that seeps into Sylvain.

Dimitri is panting like a racehorse now, sweat dripping into his eye. He stays Sylvain’s hips with both his hands, fingers locked around his waist. “Easy, easy…”

“You—you calling me easy?” Sylvain manages. He wraps his arms around Dimitri and tucks his nose into the side of his neck as he fights to catch his breath. His cock is throbbing somewhere in their tangle.

“Let me finish you,” Dimitri says. 

Sylvain nods. He lifts off of Dimitri’s cock and goes limp around Dimitri’s shoulders, fingers tangling into the fur of the cloak there.

Dimitri works him slowly, in fistfuls, drawing out long, ragged sighs from Sylvain as he pumps up and down. Already, precum dribbles over his hand. Sylvain’s panting grows hoarse. He strains around Dimitri now, wallowing in the heat pooling into his stomach, sticky and syrupy and draining slowly. 

“Come on,” Dimitri whispers into his ear. “Give in, Sylvain.”

“You expecting—a yes your highness with that—”

“You’ll sing my praises whether you mean to or not,” Dimitri teases. “Now cum.”

It is like the words pull the rug from under Sylvain. His cum splashes across Dimitri’s stomach and all of Sylvain’s strength saps from him with the first roll of pleasure. He rides it out, tucked into Dimitri’s arms, where he can’t discern the boiling heat inside of him from the steady heat around him.

Finally, he catches his breath, and dares look Dimitri in the eye. “Thank you,” he manages.

Dimitri nods. He rubs the small of Sylvain’s back, holding him there like he’s something to be protected.

“I really do insist that we bathe,” Dimitri finally says.

Sylvain grimaces. “Yeah. Yeah.” He pulls away, body like jelly, and wipes at the sweat beading down his face. “Come with me?”

“I’ll even help you wash.”


End file.
